Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2), Frances Ann Kemble [i can read book club .txt] 📗
- Author: Frances Ann Kemble
Book online «Records Of A Girlhood Volume 1 (1 Of 2), Frances Ann Kemble [i can read book club .txt] 📗». Author Frances Ann Kemble
It Is Every One's Interest To Strike Down; So That At The Miserable
Jew's Final Defeat The Whole Audience Gasps With A Sense Of Unspeakable
Relief. Perhaps, Too, The Master Meant To Show--At Any Rate He Has
Volume 1 Chapter 19 Pg 138Shown--That The Deadly Sin Of Hatred, Indulged Even With A Cause, Ends
In The Dire Disease Of Causeless Hate And The Rabid Frenzy Of A Maniac.
It Has Sometimes Been Objected To This Wonderful Scene That Portia's
Reticence And Delay In Relieving Antonio And Her Husband From Their
Suspense Is Unnatural. But Portia Is A Very _Superior Woman_, Able To
Control Not Only Her Own Palpitating Sympathy With Their Anguish, But
Her Impatient Yearning To Put An End To It, Till She Has Made Ever
Effort To Redeem The Wretch Whose Hardness Of Heart Fills Her With
Incredulous Amazement--A Heavenly Instinct Akin To The Divine Love That
Desires Not That A Sinner Should Perish, Which Enables Her To Postpone
Her Own Relief And That Of Those Precious To Her Till She Has Exhausted
Endeavor To Soften Shylock; And Shakespeare Thus Not Only Justifies The
Stern Severity Of Her Ultimate Sentence On Him, But Shows Her Endowed
With The Highest Powers Of Self-Command, And Patient, Long-Suffering
With Evil; Her Teasing Her Husband Half To Death Afterward Restores The
Balance Of Her Humanity, Which Was Sinking Heavily Toward Perfection.
Bryan Waller Procter, Dear Barry Cornwall--Beloved By All Who Knew Him,
Even His Fellow-Poets, For His Sweet, Gentle Disposition--Had Married
(As I Have Said Elsewhere) Anne Skepper, The Daughter Of Our Friend,
Mrs. Basil Montague. They Were Among Our Most Intimate And Friendly
Acquaintance. Their House Was The Resort Of All The Choice Spirits Of
The London Society Of Their Day, Her Pungent Epigrams And Brilliant
Sallies Making The Most Delightful Contrast Imaginable To The Cordial
Kindness Of His Conversation And The Affectionate Tenderness Of His
Manner; She Was Like A Fresh Lemon--Golden, Fragrant, Firm, And
Wholesome--And He Was Like The Honey Of Hymettus; They Were An
Incomparable Compound.
The Play Which I Spoke Of As His, In My Last Letter, Was Ford's "White
Devil," Of Which The Notorious Vittoria Corrombona, Duchess Of
Bracciano, Is The Heroine. The Powerful But Coarse Treatment Of The
Italian Story By The Elizabethan Playwright Has Been Chastened Into
Something More Adapted To Modern Taste By Barry Cornwall; But, Even With
His Kindred Power And Skillful Handling, The Work Of The Early Master
Retained Too Rough A Flavor For The Public Palate Of Our Day, And Very
Reluctantly The Project Of Bringing It Out Was Abandoned.
The Tragical Story Of Vittoria Corrombona, Eminently Tragical In That
Age Of Dramatic Lives And Deaths, Has Furnished Not Only The Subject Of
This Fine Play Of Ford's, But That Of A Magnificent Historical Novel, By
The Great German Writer, Tieck, In Which It Is Difficult To Say Which
Predominates, The Intense Interest Of The Heroine's Individual Career,
Or That Created By The Splendid Delineation Of The Whole State Of Italy
At That Period--The Days Of The Grand Old Sixtus The Fifth In Rome, And
Of The Contemporary Medici In Florence; It Is Altogether A Masterpiece
By A Great Master. Superior In Tragic Horror, Because Unrelieved By The
General Picture Of Contemporaneous Events, But Quite Inferior As A Work
Of Imagination, Is The Comparatively Short Sketch Of Vittoria
Corrombona's Life And Death Contained In A Collection Of Italian Stories
Called "Crimes Célèbres," By Stendal, Where It Keeps Company With Other
Tragedies Of Private Life, Which During The Same Century Occupied With
Their Atrocious Details The Tribunals Of Justice In Rome. Among The
Volume 1 Chapter 19 Pg 139Collection Is The Story From Which Mr. Fechter's Melodrama Of "Bel
Demonio" Was Taken, The Story Of The Cenci, And The Story Of A Certain
Duchess Of Pagliano, All Of Them Inconceivably Horrible And Revolting.
About The Same Time That This Play Of Barry Cornwall's Was Given Up, A
Long Negotiation Between Miss Mitford And The Management Of Covent
Garden Came To A Conclusion By Her Withdrawal Of Her Play Of "Iñez De
Castro," A Tragedy Founded Upon One Of The Most Romantic And Picturesque
Incidents In The Spanish Chronicle. After Much Uncertainty And Many
Difficulties, The Project Of Bringing It Out Was Abandoned. I Remember
Thinking I Could Do Nothing With The Part Of The Heroine, Whose Corpse
Is Produced In The Last Act, Seated On The Throne And Receiving The
Homage Of The Subjects Of Her Husband, Pedro The Cruel--A Very Ghastly
Incident In The Story, Which I Think Would In Itself Have Endangered The
Success Of The Play. My Despondency About The Part Of Inez Had Nothing
To Do With The Possible Effect Of This Situation, However, But Was My
Invariable Impression With Regard To Every New Part That Was Assigned To
Me On First Reading It. But I Am Sure Miss Mitford Had No Cause To
Regret That I Had Not Undertaken This; The Success Of Her Play In My
Hands Ran A Risk Such As Her Fine Play Of "Rienzi," In Those Of Mr.
Young Or Mr. Macready, Could Never Have Incurred; And It Was Well For
Her That To Their Delineation Of Her Roman Tribune, And Not Mine Of Her
Aragonese Lady, Her Reputation With The Public As A Dramatic Writer Was
Confided.
I Have Mentioned In This Last Letter A Morning Visit From Chantrey, The
Eminent Sculptor, Who Was Among Our Frequenter. His Appearance And
Manners Were Simple And Almost Rustic, And He Was Shy And Silent In
Society, All Which May Have Been Results Of His Obscure Birth And Early
Want Of Education. It Was To Sir Francis Chantrey That My Father's
Friends Applied For The Design Of The Beautiful Silver Vase Which They
Presented To Him At The End Of His Professional Career. The Sculptor's
Idea Seemed To Me A Very Happy And Appropriate One, And The Design Was
Admirably Executed; It Consisted Of A Simple And Elegant Figure Of
Hamlet On The Cover Of The Vase, And Round It, In Fine Relief, The
"Seven Ages Of Man," From Jacques's Speech In "As You Like It;" The
Whole Work Was Very Beautiful, And Has A Double Interest For Me, As That
Not Only Of An Eminent Artist, But A Kind Friend Of My Father's.
GREAT RUSSELL STREET, March 7, 1831.
MY DEAREST H----,
With Regard To Change As We Contemplate It When Parting From Those
We Love, I Confess I Should Shrink From The Idea Of Years
Intervening Before You And I Met Again; Not That I Apprehend Any
Diminution Of Our Affection, But It Would Be Painful To Be No
Longer Young, Or To Have Grown _Suddenly_ Old To Each Other. But I
Hope This Will Not Be So; I Hope We May Go On Meeting Often Enough
For That Change Which Is Inevitable To Be Long Imperceptible; I
Hope We May Be Allowed To Go On _Wondering_ Together, Till We Meet
Where You Will Certainly Be Happy, If Wonder Is For Once Joined To
_Knowledge_. I Remember My Aunt Whitelock Saying That When She Went
To America She Left My Father A Toddling Thing That She Used To
Dandle And Carry About; And The First Time She Saw Him After Her
Volume 1 Chapter 19 Pg 140Return, He Had A Baby Of His Own In His Arms. That Sort Of Thing
Makes One's Heart Jump Into One's Mouth With Dismay; It Seems As If
All The Time One Had Been _Living Away_, Unconsciously, Was Thrown
In A Lump At One's Head.
J---- F---- Told Me On Thursday That Her Sister, Whose Wedding-Day
Seemed To Be About Yesterday, Was The Mother Of Four Children; She
Has Lost No Time, It Is True, But My "Yesterday" Must Be Five Years
Old. After Dinner, Yesterday, I Wrote A New Last Scene To "Francis
I." I Mean To Send It To Murray.
A---- Says You Seem Younger To Her Than I Do; Which, Considering
Your Fourteen Years' Seniority Over Me, Is Curious; But The Truth
Is, Though She Does Not Know It, I Am Still _Too Young_; I Have Not
Lived, Experienced, And Suffered Enough To Have Acquired The
Self-Forgetfulness And Gentle Forbearance That Make Us Good And
Pleasant Companions To Our _Youngers_.
Henry And I Are Going Together To The Zoological Gardens One Of
These Days; That Lovely Tigress Hangs About My Heart, And I Must Go
And See Her Again. Ever Your Affectionate
F.A. KEMBLE.
GREAT RUSSELL STREET, March 9, 1831.
MY DEAR H----,
Why Are You Not Here To Kiss And Congratulate Me? I Am So Proud And
Happy! Mr. Murray Has Given Me Four Hundred And Fifty Pounds For My
Play Alone! The Other Things He Does Not Wish To Publish With It.
Only Think Of It--Was There Ever Such Publishing Munificence! My
Father Has The Face To Say _It Is Not Enough!_ But Looks So Proud
And Pleased That His Face Alone Shows It Is _Too Much_ By A Great
Deal; My Mother Is Enchanted, And I Am So Happy, So Thankful For
This Prosperous Result Of My Work, So Delighted At Earning So Much,
So Surprised And Charmed To Think That What Gave Me Nothing But
Pleasure In The Doing Has Brought Me Such An After-Harvest Of
Profit; It Is Too Good Almost To Be True, And Yet It Is True.
But I Am Happy And Have Been Much Excited From Another Reason
To-Day. Richard Trench, John's Dear Friend And Companion, Is Just
Returned From Spain, And Came Here This Morning To See Us. I Sat
With Him A Long While. John Is Well And In Good Spirits. Mr. Trench
Before Leaving Gibraltar Had Used Every Persuasion To Induce My
Brother To Return With Him, And Had Even Got Him On Board The
Vessel In Which They Were To Sail, But John's Heart Failed Him At
The Thought Of Forsaking Torrijos, And He Went Back. The Account
Mr. Trench Gives Of Their Proceedings Is Much As I Imagined Them To
Have Been. They Hired A House Which They Denominated Constitution
Hall, Where They Passed Their Time Smoking And Drinking Ale, John
Holding Forth Upon German Metaphysics, Which Grew Dense In
Proportion As The Tobacco Fumes Grew Thick And His Glass Grew
Comments (0)